


let's eat at home

by vlieger



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Cooking, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-03
Updated: 2013-12-03
Packaged: 2018-01-03 08:55:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1068543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vlieger/pseuds/vlieger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Seriously?" says Shawzy. "You don't have to feed me, you're not my mom. I can take care of myself, you-- <i>mmph</i>." He shuts up when Brandon sticks a spoon in his mouth, but only for a second, glaring, and then starts talking again with his mouth full. "I could've choked, you asshole, what the fuck," he says, swallowing, "Are you-- oh my <i>God</i>." He cuts himself off, eyes going wide, and Brandon smirks, smug. "What <i>is</i> that? Gimme more."</p>
            </blockquote>





	let's eat at home

**Author's Note:**

  * For [chele681](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chele681/gifts).



> for [chele681](http://www.archiveofourown.org/users/chele681), who asked for hockey fic where brandon cooks all the things on her [spread the love](http://www.keysmashblog.com/spread-the-love/) wishlist. i hope the pairing is to your liking, bb, and i hope you enjoy this little snippet of brandon cooking things as much as i enjoyed having the image in my head. most of all, i hope you have a wonderful holiday filled with similarly delicious food, and lots of love ♥

"And _then_ he called me a fuckin' mutt, and you _know_ I will beat anyone not on our team who tries to call me that, and-- "

"Didn't you wrestle Saader for calling you mutt that one time?" says Brandon mildly.

Shawzy glares at him. "Fine, anyone who isn't you. Anyway, I was _saying_ , then he fuckin' laughed and said if I spend so much time chasing cars I should try chasing _him_ , so of course I had to drop the gloves on him, man, what a fucking asshole."

"You skated him into the boards before you dropped the gloves," Brandon reminds him.

"He _challenged_ me," says Shawzy, following Brandon into his apartment and dropping his bag unceremoniously by the door. Brandon sighs and shakes his head. "And what are you, fuckin' play-by-play action replay? I couldn't let him get away with that shit, man, come on."

"Uh huh," says Brandon neutrally.

"Are you humouring me?" says Shawzy, narrowing his eyes. "I hate it when you humour me."

"I know," says Brandon, chuckling.

"Then _don't_ , asshole." Shawzy folds his arms and glares at him some more.

It's about as far from intimidating as you can get, although Brandon won't tell him that, because he values his life. But just, Shawzy's hair is still damp and mussed from his shower, his cheeks are pink, and he's already toed off his shoes, standing in just his socked feet on the tiled floor of Brandon's kitchen, furious and fucking cute as shit. Brandon likes the whole picture a lot.

"Sit down," he says, rolling his eyes and moving to the other side of the island.

"No," says Shawzy, tilting his chin.

"I'm not humouring you, dumbass, I'm trying to feed you. Sit the fuck down."

"Feed me?" says Shawzy, frowning. He sits, probably surprised into obedience.

Brandon hums, turning to pull a Tupperware container from the fridge.

"Seriously?" says Shawzy. "You don't have to feed me, you're not my mom. I can take care of myself, you-- _mmph_." He shuts up when Brandon sticks a spoon in his mouth, but only for a second, glaring, and then starts talking again with his mouth full. "I could've choked, you asshole, what the fuck," he says, swallowing, "Are you-- oh my _God_." He cuts himself off, eyes going wide, and Brandon smirks, smug. "What _is_ that? Gimme more."

"I thought you could take care of yourself," says Brandon, laughing.

"Fuck you, I totally can, and _I_ want more of whatever that was."

"It's soup," says Brandon. "And does that mean you can take care of your own dick as well?"

"Bullshit," says Shawzy. "Soup doesn't taste that good. Also, I would, if you could stay away from it."

"My soup does," says Brandon. "Are you daring me to stay away from your dick, mutt?"

"Um," says Shawzy, eyes cutting between Brandon and the container of soup. "Fuck, I don't fucking know, just give me more soup, asshole."

"Go sit down," says Brandon, waving towards the living room. "I'll get us soup."

Shawzy goes.

 

"No, seriously," says Shawzy, scraping the last bits of soup noisily with his spoon. "Where did you get this? It's amazing."

"I made it," says Brandon, shrugging.

"Bullshit," says Shawzy, staring at him.

"Okay," says Brandon easily.

"No, you-- really?" says Shawzy.

"Really," echoes Brandon. "How 'bout that."

"I didn't know you could cook, man," says Shawzy, nudging him. 

"You never asked," says Brandon.

"That's not something you ask people, fuck off," says Shawzy. He frowns. "Why haven't you cooked for me before?"

"Aw," says Brandon, slinging an arm over Shawzy's neck to pull him into a loose headlock. "You feeling unloved, mutt?"

"Fuck you, I like food, is all." Shawzy scowls and struggles out of his hold.

"Well, maybe if you come back 'round Thursday night, I might have something."

Shawzy blinks at him. "Really?" he says. "What's the catch?"

"No catch," says Brandon, grinning wolfishly. "Unless blowjobs are a catch."

"Huh," says Shawzy, tilting his head. Then he grins back, and slides to his knees between Brandon's thighs.

 

Wednesday they have morning skate and a game, which is why Brandon hadn't told Shawzy to come 'round for dinner then. He gets up earlier than he normally would though to throw some cupcakes together, because he likes taking Shawzy by surprise. 

He likes to make him grin, too, almost as much as he likes pissing him off, and this seems like a good opportunity to do all three.

It takes him a minute to decide _what_ to make, but in the end he goes for a pretty simple pumpkin and maple recipe, since he doesn't have a lot of time and he's got some leftover roasted pumpkin he didn't use in the soup. Plus he knows Shawzy will like it.

He figures he can make something more complicated another time. He can do some _amazing_ things with chocolate if he says so himself, plus there's a banana recipe that's his personal favourite. Last summer he taught himself a bunch of super fancy-sounding cupcake recipes, too, stuff like champagne and lemon lime bitters and this one dark chocolate fudge thing with lemon that blew even him away. He likes making them for his mom, and they're always good for a grill.

Plus he just _likes_ it, cooking and baking. It's relaxing. Almost as good as fighting, for totally different reasons. He can't do it when he's really worked up; he tried once and wound up with a broken mixing bowl and cuts across all his fingers, which is-- well, not unlike what would've happened if he'd gone at the punching bag instead, but ruining a cake tends to get you even more pissy than you were to begin with. He likes it on his days off though, when he wants to _do_ something but doesn't need it to be loud or violent or energetic. 

It's a good way to keep up a good mood, or make him feel better when he's just down but not actually angry, and by now he's really fucking good at it, so it's satisfying as well.

 

Shawzy knows pretty much straight away something's up, probably from the way Brandon grins at him, sharp, in the locker rooms while they're changing to get on the ice.

"What?" he demands, stalking right over to Brandon.

"What?" says Brandon innocently. "Nothing."

Shawzy narrows his eyes. "I don't believe you," he says.

"You callin' me a liar?" says Brandon, raising his eyebrows.

"Maybe I am," says Shawzy. He sticks his chin out.

Brandon chuckles. "Quit being so suspicious, maybe I have a _nice_ surprise for you."

"Does it involve fucking or fighting?" says Shawzy.

"Nope," says Brandon.

"Then it's probably not nice," says Shawzy, grinning smugly like he thinks he's won.

"Okay," says Brandon easily.

Shawzy glares at him, and Brandon laughs again.

"Hey!" shouts Kaner from across the room. "Quit flirting and finish getting geared up, losers."

Shawzy turns around to leer at him. "Tazer been _rubbing off_ on you, huh, Kaner?"

Kaner throws a glove at him and says, "Gross."

"Hey," says Tazer, frowning.

Kaner punches him and collapses into giggles, and Shawzy rolls his eyes, moving back to his stall. Brandon just shakes his head and checks his bag to make sure the cakes are safe.

 

"Come with me," he says to Shawzy after practice, grabbing him around the elbow before he can head off to wherever he's parked his own car.

"I fuckin' _knew_ you were up to something," says Shawzy accusingly, though he lets Brandon drag him along without putting up a fight, for once. Too curious for his own good.

"I'm not up to anything, Christ, you suspicious fucker," says Brandon, rolling his eyes.

"Then what-- " Shawzy breaks off with an indignant huff as Brandon shoves him into the hood of his car.

"Stay there," orders Brandon, setting his bag down and unzipping it.

"Are you gonna try and fuck me in a public parking lot?" says Shawzy, eyes following Brandon's movements interestedly. He doesn't actually look all that opposed to the idea, the little shit.

"Yeah, that's exactly what I'm gonna do, since I'm about as dumb as you."

"Fuck you," says Shawzy easily.

"Nope," says Brandon, pulling out the container with the cupcakes in it.

"What is-- _cupcakes?_ " says Shawzy, as Brandon opens the container with a grin. "Your dumb super secret surprise is _cupcakes?_ "

"It wasn't super secret," says Brandon, leaning next to Shawzy against the hood and holding the container out. "Just for you, babe. Decorated them the way you like it."

"They're pink," says Shawzy blankly. "Pink with-- are those _sparkles?_ "

Brandon grins and reaches up to ruffle Shawzy's hair.

"Fuck you," says Shawzy, ducking out of his reach. 

"Whatever you say, princess," says Brandon, laughing.

"I hate you so much," says Shawzy, but he plucks one of the cakes out of the container.

"Uh huh," says Brandon.

"Seriously, you-- you made these?" says Shawzy, peeling the paper from the outside of the cake. "For me? Just to-- what, piss me off? Surprise me? Prove you actually can cook?"

"All of the above," says Brandon, shrugging and taking a cake of his own.

He's kind of glad for his beard right then; his face feels a little hot.

So he's kind of into Shawzy, whatever. It's not like he didn't know. 

It's not like _Shawzy_ doesn't know. 

He can't get enough of the mouthy little brat, for whatever reason. He's more than okay with it, and with how it makes him feel a little dumb sometimes, because he gets to see things like Shawzy glancing at him with wide eyes, his expression caught between pissy and pleased and winding up somewhere really fucking cute, and saying, "Well, thanks, I guess."

He figures everyone feels dumb when they're into someone like this.

He hopes Shawzy feels just as dumb on occasion.

"You're welcome," says Brandon, nudging his shoulder. "Eat it."

Shawzy rolls his eyes and takes a huge, obnoxious bite, and Brandon just balances his cake between his fingers, watching his reaction. It's gratifying; Shawzy makes a little noise in his throat and blinks down at the cake like he's only just seeing it.

When he swallows he looks over at Brandon and says, "Fuck, man. That's-- that's a pretty fucking good cupcake. Even if it does have lameass frosting."

"Yeah?" says Brandon, pleased.

"Yeah," says Shawzy, kicking him. He eyes the container in Brandon's hand and says, "Next time do 'em with Hawks colours or something. Do I get to take these home?"

"We still on for dinner tomorrow?" says Brandon.

"'Course," says Shawzy.

"Then you can take them home."

Shawzy throws him a grin and digs into the rest of his cake, and Brandon starts eating his too, letting Shawzy kick rhythmically at his ankle while they sit in the sun on the hood of his car.

 

"Where's the food?" demands Shawzy as soon as Brandon lets him in the next day.

"Manners, mutt," says Brandon sternly, closing the door.

Shawzy rolls his eyes. "I brought wine. My mom totally raised me right."

Brandon grins, taking the bottle Shawzy holds out. "Yeah, but then you went off and spent way too much time hanging around douchey hockey players."

"You're a hockey player," Shawzy points out, following him into the kitchen.

"I'm an exception," says Brandon, smirking.

Shawzy tilts his head, then says, smiling slow and dirty, "Some fights I only get into because I know it gets you hot."

Brandon stares at him. "Seriously?" he says.

Shawzy shrugs. "I'm just saying. You're not that great an influence either."

"Hey, that's all on you, buddy," says Brandon.

"Nuh uh," says Shawzy.

Brandon rolls his eyes and sets the wine on the counter, then goes and grabs Shawzy's hips, digging his thumbs in hard under the bone and kissing him hard. "Fuckin' brat," he whispers.

"You love it," breathes Shawzy, arching into him, kissing back sharp and wet.

"You wanna eat?" says Brandon eventually, pulling back.

"Duh," says Shawzy.

Brandon nods. "Set the table."

Shawzy makes a face.

"Hey," says Brandon, nudging him. "What do you think this is, a fucking restaurant? I'm cooking for you, mutt, set the table."

"Alright, alright, God," says Shawzy, rolling his eyes and going for the cupboards.

Brandon chuckles and checks on the oven.

"Fuck," says Shawzy, turning around when the smell drifts to him. "That smells amazing. What is it?"

"Lasagna," says Brandon, shrugging.

"Lasagna?" repeats Shawzy skeptically. 

"Yeah, what?" Brandon frowns at him.

"That smells way too good for regular lasagna," says Shawzy.

Brandon laughs. "It's not regular lasagna," he says. "I made it."

"Yeah?" says Shawzy. "Guess we'll see." He comes over to stand next to Brandon and watch while he gets the salad together. "I thought you were going to make something fancy," he adds.

Brandon elbows him. "You want fancy, gotta cough up more than blowjobs," he says.

Shawzy frowns. "What's better than BJs?" he says.

Brandon grins and slaps Shawzy's ass, because it's there and he can, and because he has a really nice ass. Shawzy punches him and then smirks in understanding.

"Besides," says Brandon, grinning back. "Fancy shit takes time. You want me to get behind, go back to Rockford?"

"No," says Shawzy firmly. "Fine. You can cook fancy shit in the summer."

"Can I?" says Brandon. "Thanks."

"You know how, right?" says Shawzy, narrowing his eyes as he takes the salad bowl Brandon hands him.

"Of course I know, brat," says Brandon. He opens the oven and pulls out the lasagna, carrying it over to the table and setting it on the mat next to the salad. "Sit down. Eat."

Shawzy makes noises as soon as he's got the first forkful in his mouth, eyes going wide.

"Shit," he says, staring down at his plate. "What's _in_ this?"

Brandon shrugs mysteriously. "Trade secret."

"Fuck off," says Shawzy. "Did you fork out for some crazy expensive sauce or something?"

"I _made_ the sauce, dumbass," says Brandon. "That's why it's so good."

"You made the sauce," echoes Shawzy dubiously. "Like, from scratch?"

Brandon chuckles. "Still think it's just regular lasagna?" he says.

Shawzy rolls his eyes. "Alright, fine, you're an awesome cook, congrats," he says.

"Damn right," says Brandon, nodding. "I don't make real lasagna for just anyone."

Shawzy blinks at him, for a moment, his face doing something kind of weird, and he opens and closes his mouth like he's going to say something but thinks better of it at the last second. In the end he rolls his eyes instead and just says, "Whatever, shut up and let me eat."

Brandon kicks him under the table, watching him curiously, but lets him eat, digging into his own plateful.

Shawzy doesn't actually talk anymore, which is surprising. He looks super focused on his plate, kind of thoughtful, and as he eats his brows start to furrow, face going weird again, the lines in his forehead deepening slowly. Brandon would almost think there was something bothering him except, well, he can't think of anything, and usually he's pretty good at picking up on signs.

He's kind of proven right though, eventually, when Shawzy looks up at him, frowning a little. "This is kinda weird," he says. He's demolished most of his lasagna, picking more slowly at the salad. "I mean, is it weird? You cooking for me. It's like I'm your girlfriend or something."

Brandon kicks him under the table again, grinning. "You are my girlfriend, Shawzy."

"Fuck you." Shawzy scowls. "That's not-- we're not-- we're just fucking."

Brandon raises an eyebrow, leaning back slowly in his seat. He's pretty sure he's been more obvious than that. _Way_ more fucking obvious. "Just fucking?" he echoes.

"I mean." Shawzy rolls his eyes. "Obviously we're buddies. But this is-- "

"You don't wanna date me, mutt?" Brandon cuts him off, leaning forward. "Not good enough for you?"

"What?" says Shawzy. He looks confused as hell and kind of trapped. "No, that's-- no. I just-- " He stops, like he thinks Brandon's going to cut him off again, but Brandon just waits, watching him. Shawzy makes a frustrated noise. "You never _said_ anything."

"Neither did you," Brandon points out.

"Yeah, because we-- I didn't think-- fuck, okay, fuck you, you kissed me first, you should've said something."

Brandon pushes his chair back and stands, rounding the table and catching Shawzy's chin with firm fingers to tilt his head up. Shawzy blinks at him. His cheeks are flushed pink, and he licks his lips, forehead creased. 

"I fed you," says Brandon slowly and clearly. "I made that soup because I know you love pumpkin, by the way. I have a drawer full of your shit in my room. I bought a rod so I could go fishing with you in fucking Canada. I picked a fight with a bouncer that one time so you wouldn't get kicked out of the bar. I woke up early to make those fucking cupcakes for you. And," he tightens his fingers on Shawzy's face, "I cooked you _dinner_."

"Oh," says Shawzy hoarsely. He bites his lip. "You, um. You still should've asked me out?"

Brandon rolls his eyes and tugs Shawzy to his feet, close against his chest. "You wanna go out with me, Shawzy?" he says, smirking.

Shawzy punches his arm. "Fuck you," he says. "But, uh." He flushes, ducking his head before he lifts it to look Brandon fiercely in the eye. "Yeah, okay."

Brandon grins, slow and happy, leaning down to brush their mouths together. "Good," he says. "By the way," he adds, biting a smirk into Shawzy's mouth, "Remember those cookies I got for your birthday?"

"Yeah, those amazing ones you wouldn't tell me where you got, you-- wait. No _way_."

"Way," says Brandon, laughing.

"You _asshole_ ," says Shawzy loudly, smacking his chest. "I could've been eating those for _months_."

"Nuh uh," says Brandon. "Special occasion cookies only."

"Seems like a special occasion to me," says Shawzy.

"You want them now?" says Brandon, leaning back. "I was gonna blow you."

Shawzy looks genuinely torn; it's kind of hilarious. "Blowjobs first," he decides in the end. "Blowjobs then cookies. Like, right after."

Brandon chuckles, ducking back in to Shawzy's mouth. "Fuckin' safety hazard," he mumbles.

"You love it," whispers Shawzy.

Brandon kind of does.


End file.
